


Wine Bottles and Beatings

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A/U, Abuse, Comfort, Hurt, M/M, Sad, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:10:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's those damn eyes that give it away every time, but the wine bottles that tell the stories</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wine Bottles and Beatings

-Wine Bottles and Beatings-

 

Nick said he loved Louis. It'd been two years, and Nick did say he loved Louis. Maybe it wasn't true love, but Nick never left and that's what love is; staying. 

It didn't feel like love, though, sitting alone on a slightly damp park bench, whistling wind chilling the tip of his nose. The heat on his cheek where Nick's fist had been last night didn't feel like love. The swelling bruise low on his hip didn't feel like love as Louis massaged the tender muscle around it. Maybe Louis didn't actually know what love felt like. Perhaps Louis had just deceived himself; love wasn't a sparky fairy tale like he'd heard. Nick's love was bloody and purple, late nights and empty beer bottles, stifled tears and silent cries, but it was love, damn it, and Louis wasn't going to give it up just because he couldn't handle it. Nick was as good as Louis would ever get in life and he knew that. He didn't need Nick's constant reminders to know that. 

What Louis didn't know was how long he was going to sit on that park bench before he dragged himself back to Nick. The amount of people drifting through the field in front of him was slowly decreasing as the clock neared twelve. The moon hung directly overhead, casting a silver light over Louis' pointed complexion. He tilted his neck back to search for stars, but found himself staring at a blank night sky. Disappointed, he let his head drop on top of his knees where he had them pulled into his chest. He slipped his numb finger tips under the cuffs of his pants and shuddered at the icy impact.

"Are you cold?" A throaty voice threw Louis into a small panic, legs falling out from under his chin. "Sorry, sorry! Didn't mean to startle you." A tall figure stepped in front of Louis from behind the wooden bench. "I uh, I saw you shivering and um... do you need a jacket-" This curly haired stranger began to shrug himself out of his coat, faltering to a stop when Louis looked up at him with wide, blue eyes. "Your eye..." 

"No, yeah I'm fine thank you." Louis rushed, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He'd hoped the tenseness in his voice would've sent this boy on his way, but no such luck. 

"Did someone do that to you?" The boy inquired, peering through the darkness and straight through Louis' gritted words. If Louis had faster instincts, he could have avoided hesitating before shaking his head. 

"I said I'm fine, thank you." Louis breathed, shocked when the curious boy sat down next to him. 

"Looks awfully painful," he observed, squinting at the dark coloring around Louis' cheekbone. 

"Yeah, well." Louis shrugged, shifting uncomfortably under the boy's gaze. 

"Did you get into a fight?" Another question fell from the boy's lips, and Louis struggled for an answer. 

"Something like that." He mumbled, adjusting the neck of his sweatshirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the boy watching him carefully. "You're not very subtle." Louis spoke after a few seconds of quiet. The staring continued. "Is it really that bad?" Louis didn't think the mark was that noticeable, especially not in the dim lighting of the park. 

"It's cool, like a battle scar." The boy commented, a small smile evident on his pink lips. Louis smiled halfheartedly in return because he quite liked the way the stranger glorified it. Like it was something to be proud of, something with a story. The stranger made it elegant, important. 

"Do you have any battle scars?" Louis asked, desperately wanting to keep the conversation moving because silence is suffocating. 

"I'm more of a lover, not a fighter." Stranger Boy shook his head, running a long hand through the tussled curls hanging on his forehead. "Although, I did get into a brawl with my cabinet this morning." He chuckled, holding up a bandaged pinky finger. Louis half smiled, wishing he had enough band-aids to cover his wounds. He wished it was just his body that was in need of mending. 

"You poor thing." Louis fawned, thinking about what the stranger would say if he saw the bruises on Louis' stomach. 

"I'll live." Stranger Boy smiled, burying his hands in the pockets of his pants. "So, do you always sit on park benches in the middle of the night?" 

"You ask like it's a bad thing!" Louis acted offended, drawing a laugh from the green, green eyed stranger. 

"It is when you're alone." The boy spoke softly, looking out into the darkness of the park. Louis frowned because he didn't realize being alone was a bad thing. 

'S'not that bad, actually." Louis contradicted. It's not, really. It's not that Louis is introverted or shy, he's not. Louis just thinks a lot, about anything and everything, and it's best to think about things when you're alone. Stranger Boy was just opening his mouth to speak when Louis' phone vibrated in his pocket. Louis flashed an apologetic smile in the stranger's direction as he dug the phone out to read the text from Nick. "Oh." He accidentally sighed out loud, shoving the phone back in his jeans. 

"Something wrong?" Everything, Louis thought. Everything is wrong. Six more times Louis' phone vibrated with senseless texts from a very drunk Nick. 

"Someone wants me home, that's all." Louis blew it off and began to stand up, pulling his beanie over his ears. The stranger stood with him, a hand surfacing to wipe at his pink nose. 

"Girlfriend?" 

"Boyfriend, actually." Louis corrected him, flinching as his phone vibrated with an incoming call. "I'll see you around...?" 

"Harry." 

"I'm Louis, and I've gotta run. Bye Harry," Louis nodded a farewell and grabbed his phone again, hesitantly answering Nick's call and walking away from Harry towards his apartment. 

"Bye, Louis."

\----------------------------

They definitely saw each other around.

"Hey!" Harry greeted a week later as Louis shuffled towards the bench (with a jacket this time). A thickly bundled Harry scooted over to make room for Louis on the right side of the bench. 

"Fancy seeing you here," Louis commented quietly, only partially surprised to find the curly haired boy again. Louis wasn't going to lie to himself; when a broody Nick had kicked him out of the apartment, Louis grabbed his hoodie and walked straight to the park in hopes of seeing Harry again. Harry smirked, revealing pearly whites in the afternoon sun. "You stalking me or something?" 

"I was here first, you know." Harry pointed out, sniffing once and flicking an unruly strand of hair from his eye. 

"Yeah but this is MY bench." Louis claimed, patting the weathered wood with his hand. Harry chuckled, but didn't object. Louis guessed he won, which was totally weird because Louis wasn't used to winning, and Harry didn't seem to mind that he'd lost the argument. Harry didn't even seem to care that Louis got the last word. "But you can sit here." Louis tacked onto the end, just in case Harry was good at hiding his anger. 

"Oh, good. I really didn't want to move." Harry buzzed, the happy tone in his voice making Louis smile shyly. "How are you?" he asked, throwing Louis for a loop. How was Louis? 

"Uh, fine I guess." Louis did a really poor job at lying, like he always did. "Great, good. I'm great." He changed his answer when he saw the puzzling look gleaming in Harry's eyes. 

"You guess?" Harry questioned, like he always did. "How come you don't know?" And hell, that was a good question.

"Well I... I don't know?" Louis gave up, his mind too tired to labor through the process of finding an answer.

"Are you angry?" Harry asked.

"No." Louis answered, frowning. Was he angry? He didn't think he was angry, but then again, Louis was terrible at judging himself.

"Are you sad?" Louis wanted to ask what Harry meant by sad, but he didn't of course.

"No."

"Are you happy?" Louis wasn't even sure he knew what happy meant anymore.

"Sure." 

"Then you are feeling happy, that's how you are. Simple." Harry smiled triumphantly, leaning back against the bench in victory. "Now you know."

"Thank you, Dr. Harry." Louis quipped, folding his hands between his thighs to warm his fingers. 

"Always here to help," Harry promised, although Louis knew he couldn't possibly mean it. "What, you're not going to ask how I'm doing?" Harry requested with a grin. Shock passed over Louis' slender face, because s h i t, where did Louis' manners go? He finds one person who actually wants to talk to him and he doesn't even properly carry on a conversation. 

"Right, yeah! Um, how are you feeling?" Louis asked tightly, beating himself up inside for being so incredibly stupid. 

"I'm fantastic. And cold." Harry responded, rubbing his hands together to create warmth. 

"Want my gloves? I'm not using them." Louis pulled out the cloth things from his jacket pocket, holding them out towards Harry. Harry pondered taking them from Louis, then decided Louis really wasn't using them so he took them.

"Thanks, Louis!" Harry beamed, reminding Louis of a little kid on Christmas morning. It was just a pair of gloves, Louis thought. They weren't expensive or nice, just the cotton ones you get at the grocery store. Harry tried to slip them on but

"Er, they're a little small." Harry commented, attempting to pull the gloves down over his wrist, but they wouldn't hardly budge past his palms. Louis panicked, digging through his other pocket in case he had a pair of Nick's stuffed in there. He didn't, of course. 

"I, I'm sorry Harry, I have small hands, I should have thought before I even offered," Louis cringed, waiting for Harry to get mad. It was confusing when he didn't.

"It's alright, I've got monster hands. Not your fault, just genetics." Harry held up his hands, which really were monstrous, looking quite funny with Louis' too tight gloves stretched on them. Louis stifled a giggle into his hand while Harry barked one out. It was so easy to Harry, Louis thought. Everything just...was. It was black or white, a or b, yes or no, happy or sad and Louis wished his mind was as sorted and organized as that. Louis' thoughts were a mixture of grays and reds, maybes, I don't knows, and I don't cares. Messy, but he was working on it. Kind of.

\---------------------------

It was becoming sort of a thing, that park bench. Being around Harry every few days in the park helped with Louis' I don't cares. Harry cared, about a lot of things, most everything actually (including beating Louis to the slightly disintegrating wooden bench every time), and it confused Louis how one person could contain so much interest for everything. It made Louis want to care about more things than he actually did, like himself.

"What are you thinking about?" Harry broke Louis' thoughts one day when Louis was drifting off into another world, bringing him to the present and his eyes back into focus. 

"Why do you ask so many questions?" Louis retorted, embarrassed and flushed to be caught staring off into space. He'd meant to sound disapproving but he sounded more intrigued than anything. Harry shrugged, slipping the gloves off and folding them up. He set them between his leg and Louis' leg before he replied. 

"I like to know things." He replied, a hint of a playful smirk evident. The sharp curve of his lips was enough to churn Louis' stomach, but he blamed it on the pulsing bruise. 

"Well don't you ever get bored of my answers?" Louis pondered, because heck, even Louis gets bored of his answers. There's not a whole lot he can say without breaking down those walls of his, and he really didn't want to deal with the clutter behind them. 

"If I did, I would stop asking things." Harry chuckled, threading his fingers through his hair. The thing was, Louis talked and stuff, and Harry loved to listen, but Louis never really said anything. It took a little work on Harry's part to pick apart what he was saying. Louis wasn't lying, he was just being careful with his words. Not with those terrible bruises, though. The ones Harry saw last week were fading, and new ones took their place. Harry wasn't stupid and he wasn't blind either. 

"You're like one of those twenty question games." Louis commented. 

"Animal, vegetable or mineral?" Harry asked in a mechanical voice, sitting up as straight as he could with no expression on his face. 

"No, no I want to be the question person!" Louis requested in between his laughter. 

"We can take turns." Harry compromised, relaxing his back and turning towards Louis, giving him permission to ask the first question. 

"What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done?" Louis asked immediately. Harry stuttered for an answer, blushing with remembrance of this one time when he... 

"Yes or no questions, Louis. Yes or no." Harry tried to save himself, but Louis wouldn't have it. He shook his head, shooting Harry down. 

"This is 20 Questions The Improved Version. All questions are permitted." Louis recited the rules from the imaginary book in his brain. "Embarrassing story, please." 

"Fine. First day at a new school, I was late to gym class so I ran into the first locker room I could find. Stripped down, butt naked-" 

"No!" 

"-was just about to put my shorts on when I heard the giggling. I turned around and there was a group of girls who were skipping gym over by the showers." 

"Harry!" 

"I didn't know it was the girls' locker room! I wouldn't have gone in there if I did!" He defended himself, rubbing his temples. "My turn." Harry was quick to change the subject. Louis contained his amusement so he could hear Harry's question. "Knock knock." 

"That's not even a question." Louis reprimanded. Harry was such an idiot, making jokes instead of asking real questions. Louis supposed Harry had already asked all his good questions, though. 

"This is 20 Questions, Improved Version. Everything goes." Harry quoted proudly. "Knock knock." 

"Who's there." 

"Harry." This was so lame. He used his own name in a knock knock joke. Who even does that? 

"Harry who?" Louis complied to the game, eager to hear what the pun would be. 

"Harry up and let me in, it's cold out here!" 

"YOU LOSER!" Louis screeched, erupting into laughter.

\---------------------------

Louis would much rather be at the park with Harry, under the sun, exchanging lame jokes, playing dumb children's games, laughing. He would much rather feel Harry's overwhelming warmth as they sat shoulder to shoulder on their park bench. Instead, he was slumped in a kitchen chair, picking through the remaining scraps of dinner with a fork. He could hear the blare of the television from the living room, where Nick was cozy in the couch with his Chinese takeout for one. Whatever show Nick was watching was loud enough to cover Louis' empty sniffles. He was desperately trying to ignore the excruciating pain in his hip and jaw, but it was impossible while he was eating. All because he forgot. 

Nick had told Louis to pick him up from the bar at eight. From the deep worry lines in his forehead, Louis could tell he'd had a bad day at work. Louis had nodded, promising to be at the front with his car at eight, sharp. He should have set an alarm. Louis had convinced himself he could make a nice dinner for the two of them and still make it to the bar on time. He'd wanted to bring Nick home to something comforting, like his favorite meal. He'd slaved in the kitchen for two hours, three recipe books splayed across the counter, most of the contents of his fridge set out next to the stove. Louis didn't know how to cook, not very well, at least. He'd taken his time making this dinner for Nick and himself, to get it just right. He'd dug out his nicest dishes, pulled out a bottle of wine, and even set the table, candles, place mats and all. 

He'd only messed up twice, completely restarting the first time. He had almost burnt the bread, but saved it just in time. He'd had the meat in the skillet for ten minutes before he realized the stove wasn't even on. Three and a half hours and ten messy pots later, Louis had arranged the dinner on the table. He'd slipped off the apron and washed off his hands, looking around for his keys and shoes. His plan had been to speed over to the bar and get Nick home quickly, so the dinner would still be hot. Louis had glanced at the clock on the microwave and dropped his keys. 8:39. 

Before the shock could even register, the front door had swung open, contacting the wall with a shuddering bang. The sudden noise had made Louis jump two feet in the air, clutching his throat with fear. He'd forgotten. He'd been such an idiot and he'd forgotten to pick Nick up from the bar and there was a large chance Nick was drunk and a one hundred percent chance he was angry. 

"What the fuck, Louis?" Nick had shouted, stomping into the kitchen with a red face and clenched hands. 

"I-I'm- Nick I'm sorry I-" 

"I had to take a damn cab! We don't have money, Louis! What the fucking hell?" He had screamed right in Louis face, his eyes bloodshot. 

"I forgot, I'm so sorry I was making dinner and-" Louis' sight had gone black. The impact from Nick's fist on his jaw had sent his whole body reeling back until he crashed into the counter, banging his hip on the corner. Before Louis' sight even came back, Nick had swiped his hands across the table and knocked half of the dinner on the floor and had proceeded to step over Louis' crumpled body. And now, here Louis was, after cleaning the mess, trying to eat what was left of the meal through the blinding pain. Louis would much rather be at the park with Harry. 

\----------------------------

Louis got his wish two days later, after the new bruise had gone down in swelling and paled in color. He felt bad about waiting so long, but he didn't want Harry to see the marks Nick left. They were embarrassing and distracting. Harry looked delighted enough to see Louis amble towards him on a cold afternoon, a coat and scarf wrapped around his little body. If Louis was being honest with himself, he only wore the scarf in hopes it would cover the bruise. Louis managed a smile as he sat down next to Harry, careful to put all his weight on his left leg, the one without a bruised hip bone. 

"Long time no see," Harry grinned, tucking his hands between his thighs like the stupid cutie he is. Louis laughed unevenly, nodding in agreement.

"Sorry, been busy with Nick and stuff." Louis said, which wasn't the whole truth. Harry narrowed his eyes slightly, because Louis sucked at lying. Harry thinks that perhaps Louis could fool most people with his excuses; his voice sounding convincing enough and his body language wasn't too questionable. But it was those damn eyes that gave it away every time, if Harry looked hard enough. Harry nodded, letting it go. Maybe later, he thought, maybe later. "How are you?" Louis popped the first question of the day and popped his knuckles at the same time. Harry shrugged, looking at the ground. He could tell Louis he was extremely happy because he'd been waiting for the past two days for Louis to meet him at the park bench and now he's here but he probably shouldn't.

"Chilly." Is what he says instead, because chilly is safe. Smiling, Louis slipped his hands into his coat pocket and pulled out a pair of gloves big enough to fit Harry's hands.

"They should fit this time," Louis smirked, watching Harry push them on. When his fingers were comfortably situated, Harry looked at Louis with the world's biggest smile and Louis couldn't help but stare at it. Red, red lips, bright teeth, dimples deep enough to swim in. Things Louis shouldn't be looking at so intensely because he has a boyfriend and Nick would really actually kill him if he knew.

"Perfect. So, how are you today?"

\---------------------------

Louis was lucky enough to endure quite a few more pleasant visits with Harry at that same park bench. It became a daily routine for the two of them to meet late afternoon, Louis always bringing the extra pair of gloves if it was especially chilly out. One time, Harry brought Louis a cupcake from a batch he'd proudly made himself, from scratch. Louis had taken it from him like it was the most delicate thing, bringing it home and eating it with a fork so as not to destroy the decoration on top. A few weeks after the cupcake, Louis decided to go ahead and just give Harry the gloves, since he seemed to have taken a liking to them. Harry had accepted them sheepishly, thanking Louis a million times over for the gift. Louis still didn't quite understand why the gloves made Harry fluster, but it made Louis' heart smile to know he was the cause.

Harry lost track of the number of times he took a seat next to Louis in the park. It could be storming, and Harry would still rush to beat Louis there. Sometimes he brought gifts, sometimes Louis did. Sometimes they laughed and told each other jokes they'd looked up online, other times they sat in silence and watched the different people wander through the grassy field. Once, Louis walked up with headphones crammed in his ears and Harry, being intrusive and curious, ripped one out and they took turns choosing a song to play. It took a good many visits before their conversations began to include the dark stuff.

"You've sure got a lot of battle scars today, Lou." Harry whispered on a Monday evening, because there was a couple standing nearby. Louis tensed, if only a little, at Harry's small observation. Harry was used to watching Louis shut all his windows and lock all his doors any time he mentioned the marks, but tonight it seemed Louis was too tired to completely close himself off. 

"Oops." Louis laughed, but the sound wasn't out of merriment. The glorious sound was defeated, beaten down. Harry waited in silence for Louis to add to his remark, and prompted when he didn't.

"How'd you get them?" Harry asked, even though he knew the right answer. He knew it was Nick, Louis' incredibly abusive boyfriend, from the small trails of evidence Louis had accidentally left in previous conversations. Louis had only mentioned him by name a few times, wincing slightly when the word left his mouth. Harry had never met the man (not that he wanted to), but he hated Nick with his whole entire body. Louis probably did too, or at least what Nick did to his body.

"I've been in lots of wars, lately." Louis coded, only feeling free to talk about his injuries if he's participating in the analogy of the battle scars. It separated him from the pain and the memories. Harry nodded, resisting from shuddering as he imagined what kinds of wars. Harry looked at Louis with encouraging eyes. Waiting, waiting. "I'm losing." Harry almost didn't hear it. It was so quiet, so ashamed, so desperate.

"Losing?" 

"The war, Harry. I'm losing the war." And Harry isn't sure what Louis meant by that, but it scared him. A lot.

\----------------------------------

It was another few months until The Night. Harry and Louis had been meeting regularly every single afternoon until the Friday when they didn't. They were supposed to; A few weeks prior, they'd exchanged phone numbers so they could contact each other and make concrete plans. They'd definitely planned to meet after dinner. Harry re-read the chain of text messages at least one hundred times just to be sure. So here Harry was, curled over himself on the particularly cold night, fur-lined hood pulled over his hair and Louis' pair of gloves on his hands. And here Louis wasn't. Harry waited an hour, texting Louis at fifteen minute intervals until his watch told him it was ten. With no reply from Louis and no feeling in his toes, Harry determined it was pointless to stay any longer and he headed home. He had no idea what was happening, why Louis didn't show up, and why Louis never answered his phone.

Louis and Nick's apartment was silent; the heavy kind, the kind that steals all the sound and keeps it captive. The rooms were empty, the lights were out, blinds shut and heater off. Nick's coat was missing from the rack next to the front door, and his sneakers were gone from the small pile of shoes in the corner. Louis' jacket and shoes were still there, though, and so was his blood. The entire apartment was tidy and clean, no sign of the fight, minus the red splatters in the hallway in front of the door. Louis' phone was on the counter in the kitchen, screen lighting up every few minutes with Harry's texts, and Louis wasn't there to check them.

He was bundled as deep as he possibly could be under the mass of blankets on his and Nick's bed. The comforter covered his entire body, sealing him inside it's soft protection, masking his wrenching sobs. Louis was folded in on himself in the most painful position, but no matter how hard he searched, he couldn't find enough energy to move. He was lucky to still be breathing. His chest was tight, throat closed, nose still dripping blood. His right eye was swollen, practically swelled shut. The back of his head pulsed with a migraine, his shin throbbing like he'd been stung by a thousand bees. Louis felt like he was suffocating, like he was slowly fading, like his body would fall apart at any moment, and all he could think about was Harry. If he was suffocating, if he really was fading, he wanted Harry to be the last person on his mind.

All Louis had said was 'no'. He had tried, for the first time, to stop, to refuse, to stand up for himself. He had wanted to be proud of himself, he'd wanted Harry to be proud of him. Louis wasn't proud of himself. He knew Harry wouldn't be, either. He'd said no, alright. It had felt so good for two seconds, for that one syllable word to be formed on his lips and for him to actually speak it, give it voice and power. Five seconds later, all pride he'd contained before was (literally) beaten out of him. It had started with a knee in his stomach, and then another knee higher up on his ribs, and then his head had hit the wall and a foot had hit his shin. All he'd said was no.

Nick had come home from the club, and he had come home horny and shitfaced. The first thing he'd done was grab Louis' forearm and slam him into the wall, lustful lips keeping him there. Louis had done what he always did and let Nick have his way until Nick had started unbuckling his pants. Until Nick had smacked a hand on top of Louis' head and had pushed him into a kneeling position. Until Louis had said no. Louis had told him through his tears to stop, that he didn't want to, he wasn't ready. Two seconds later, Nick's hand had gripped Louis' hair and pulled him back to his feet, and the punishment began. It lasted for an eternity, each blow coming hard and coming slow. He didn't even notice when his nose started bleeding, or when his eye puffed shut and he lost half his vision. He didn't know how many times Nick's knee pounded into his abdomen, or how many times his hand pushed Louis' head into the wall. He only remembered finally falling to the ground when Nick determined he was done, only remembered how Nick spit on him before taking his coat and shoes and leaving once again. He didn't recall moving from the hallway to his bed, recalling only that it felt like he was dragging himself over scorching needles to get there. All because he'd said no.

\------------------------------

Louis woke up (unfortunately) the next afternoon with a killer head ache, worse than the paralyzing hangover he'd suffered a few months ago. He'd hoped to be feeling better by daylight, but the pain had only increased. Even the tiniest motion of rolling over in bed made him want to cut his stomach off. It took at least half an hour for Louis to drag his weary body up and shuffle into the kitchen, using the walls for support. The light from the fridge that illuminated when he filled up a glass of water burned his eyes, and intensified the pulsing inside his skull. It took all his strength to open the fridge and pull out the rest of his dinner from last night. Dinner. Harry. Harry.

Louis wheeled around, as fast as he could without giving himself whiplash or passing out, strained eyes searching for his phone. He dragged himself across the small space in the kitchen and rested his finger on the home button of his iPhone. The screen jumped to life, and all the notifications under Harry's name popped up with the light. As much as it hurt Louis' sensitive eyes, he knew he had to text Harry. Louis struggled to remember his password, and fumbled around with the device for a good five minutes before he had a reply typed out. Almost instantly, Harry replied in all caps. He was worried; 'WHY DIDN'T YOU COME TO THE PARK LAST NIGHT, ARE YOU OKAY? IS EVERYTHING OKAY? LOUIS?' Louis would've smiled if his face didn't ache, because Harry just cared so much and no one has ever cared about Louis the way Harry did. 'Meet me at the park' was Louis' reply. When Harry agreed, Louis shakily grabbed a hoodie from the coat rack and slipped into a pair of sneakers, careful to keep his weight off his left shin.

Forty-five minutes later, three times as long as it normally takes, Louis arrived at the park. He was a good twenty feet away from the park bench when Harry looked up and his jaw dropped to the floor. Harry jumped up from the bench and ran towards Louis, stopping a mere few inches from Louis' face. Both of the boys were speechless; Harry's wide green eyes searching Louis in horror, and Louis' smaller blue ones watching him take it all in. Louis couldn't help his heavy and quick breathing, like he'd just run a marathon. "Louis?" Harry whispered, subconsciously raising a hand and resting his fingers on Louis' cheek, his thumb over Louis' lips. "Is this why you didn't show up at the park last night?"

Louis didn't answer, because his throat felt he had swallowed nails and then spit them back up. He just looked at Harry, he just looked and looked and looked at Harry and his eyes told Harry every answer, just like they always did. Harry was just looking at Louis, eyes wide and fearful, fingers comforting but stinging on Louis' tender face. Louis swallowed with great difficulty, reaching shivering arms up slowly until he held Harry in some sort of embrace. He just wanted to feel, he wanted to know what it felt like to have someones arms wrapped around him without hurting him. Harry very lightly returned the hug, terrified to touch the wrong places or squeeze too hard. Torso to torso, Louis' forehead resting on Harry's bony shoulder, Louis hurt. He hurt so bad and he needed someone to help mend him and he thought maybe that someone could be Harry.

"Louis?" Harry breathed into Louis' hair, quietly so that Louis wouldn't shatter into a million pieces right there in his arms. Louis didn't respond, and Harry didn't expect him to. "Let's go." And slowly, Harry extracted himself from Louis and took his hand. "We're going home." Louis liked that word, so he complied. He couldn't stop feeling sorry; sorry for himself and his sad excuse of a life, sorry for Harry for having to patch Louis up when he couldn't do it himself, sorry for Nick that Louis could never please him. He was a sorry person, but not a lost one. He wasn't lost. He knew who he was and where he belonged and it wasn't with Nick in that cold, shabby apartment. Louis could deal with being sorry. At least he had somewhere to go from.

The duo arrived at Harry's apartment after a lengthy walk, Harry fiddling around with a key outside his door. The slow exercise had helped work out the minor kinks in Louis' taut muscles and the way Harry smelled so homey and familiar helped calm his nerves and his headache. Ridiculous, Louis thought, that this curly haired boy who sat on park benches and talked to Louis for a living could manage to pick up Louis' pieces and stay around long enough to start putting them back together. Harry won the tussle with his room key and eventually let Louis inside. He placed his fingertips on the small of Louis' back and gently directed him to the bedroom and onto the bed. Louis allowed Harry to strip him of his trousers from yesterday (dirty and uncomfortable) and fluff his pillow for him (unnecessary but much appreciated).

"Hey Harry," Louis spoke as Harry shuffled out of his impossibly tight jeans and grey jumper.

"Yes Lou?"

"I want to get drunk." He requested, pushing himself into a sitting position. Harry eyed Louis nervously, pondering whether or not alcohol was a logical accessory to the night. "Please get me drunk, Harry." Louis said again.

"You'll have a hangover," Harry pointed out. Louis didn't need anymore pain, not on top of this. Louis sucked in a deep breath. He's done this before, he's gotten himself absolutely knackered after a rough night and he knows it takes away the pain, even if only for a moment and that's what Louis wanted. He didn't want the pain.

"Harry please." It only took those two words for Harry to give in, because Louis had Harry dancing in the palm of his hand, even if Louis didn't realize it yet. He returned to his bedroom with three bottles of wine and zero glasses. Harry climbed into bed, crawling over Louis and settling on his side next to him. He popped off the cork to one bottle and held it out towards Louis. Louis gripped the neck of the bottle with eager hands and gulped a forth of the liquid down in one go. Harry didn't know if he'd done the right thing, but the look on Louis' soft face kept him from doing anything about it.

\-----------------------------

Louis was the giggly, handsy type of drunk. The I can't sit still, I have to touch you, and I'm going to laugh at everything you say kind of drunk. Happy. Harry was the responsible kind of drunk, meaning he wasn't. He was still relatively sober because Louis was bashed and one of them needed to keep a hand on their senses. Louis' needy hands and eager mouth had finished off two bottles of Harry's favorite red wine and his antsy feet had kicked all the covers off the bed. It was alright though, because Louis was literally radiating warmth and he couldn't keep his hands off Harry. Whether Louis was tracing Harry's numerous tattoos or pulling on his curls or touching his eyelashes, Louis' heated body was pressed close to Harry's at all times. When the third bottle, with Harry's assistance, was halfway empty, Louis got brave and prodded Harry's stomach with his pointer finger.

"What're you doing, Tomlinson?" Harry mumbled, words slurring together marginally. Louis let out a girly giggle (one he'd be extremely embarrassed about if he actually gave a fuck) and proceeded to poke him again.

"Ticklish." Louis commented and did it again. Harry only felt it proper to return such vicious moves on his attacker, so he did. He nudged at Louis' stomach, near his bellybutton and immediately regretted the action when Louis yelped and smacked his hand away. "Not there, silly. That's- there's bruised." Louis spattered, chuckling sadly, verbally acknowledging the wounds for the first time.

"Are there lots of them?" Harry asked, tempted to lift the hem of Louis' long shirt and see for himself.

"Oh, tons!" Louis exclaimed, pinching Harry's bottom lip and sticking his foot between Harry's thighs. Harry clenched his jaw and clenched his fist around the last wine bottle. "Lots and lots and lots and lots,"

"Nick." Harry muttered, hoping that Louis could hear the anger in his words through the influence of the alcohol.

"My boyfriend, my boyfrieeeeeeend." Louis sang, pretending to play the piano on Harry's hip.

"He hurts you, Louis." Harry said firmly, trying to hold contact with Louis' fluttering eyes. Harry didn't get it. Louis was in so much pain, unimaginable pain, and he kept going back to Nick. He didn't understand why Louis kept going back, even though he knew nothing would change. He kept returning to the bruises, the blood, the yelling, the abuse. He didn't deserve it, Louis didn't deserve the things Nick did to him and Harry just wanted to make Louis see.

"Yes." Louis said conclusively, trying to end the conversation. But Harry was far from done. Despite his muddled mind and hazy eyesight, Louis was still trying to hold those damn walls up. Harry knew they were falling, crashing even, tumbling down one by one. With each sip of wine Louis took, Harry could hear a brick fall out of place. He could hear Louis being stripped raw, vulnerable, unprotected from the dusty fortress that used to block him in. Harry wanted to be Louis' walls. He wanted to protect Louis from anything that could possibly hurt him. He wanted to drape his lanky body over Louis and blanket him in, cuddle and coddle and love Louis until he grew sick of it. He wanted to be what Nick should have been to Louis.

"You can't go back." Harry didn't mean to say it out loud, maybe he did, but he definitely didn't. Louis' eyes darted across Harry's face, a small red siren going off in the back of his mind. "You can't go back to Nick."

Louis pulled his foot out from under Harry's leg and flicked the eye of one of his swallow tattoos, frowning as he did so. Louis can do whatever he wants, he thought. He ripped the sleek bottle from Harry's fingers and drank more of the red liquid in an act of defiance, or something. "Yes I can." Louis contradicted, slightly offended.

"I won't let you, Louis."

"You don't fucking own me, Harry." Louis spit, fingers beginning to shake. Harry looked taken aback by Louis' abrupt outburst, because no, Harry wasn't trying to own Louis. He was trying to help him.

"Nick doesn't love you, babe." Harry spoke softly, trying to calm Louis with a still voice. His steadfastness was no match for the amount of wine Louis had consumed.

"You don't know shit! You- you don't know!" Louis sputtered, pushing himself away from Harry and taking with him the glowing heat, leaving goosebumps on Harry's skin. Harry tried to reach out and catch one of Louis' hands, but he was moving too fidgety for Harry to even grab a finger smoothly.

"He abuses you Louis!" Harry retorts, voice straining not to yell. Harry knew he was being agonizingly blunt with Louis, but he had to. He needed Louis to see the trap Nick had him in, he needed to bust past Louis' blockades and rescue the withering man captured under the rubble of his faltering fort.

"WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?" Louis screams, yelling at himself, yelling at Harry, yelling at Nick. He was so deep in quick sand, struggling to get out but everyone knows the more you fight against quick sand, the faster you sink. Louis didn't want to sink. "Don't let me sink, Harry, don't let me sink, don't let me sink." Louis chanted, lungs heaving, tears pouring from his eyes, hair sticky on his sweaty forehead. Harry's hands came in fast and swooped him up, pulling Louis into his body and locking him in with his chin on the top of Louis' head. "I don't want to sink." Louis whispered desperately against Harry's collarbone, ignoring the pain of the bruises and contusions.

"We won't, we're not going to sink, okay?" Harry articulated quickly, stroking Louis' thin hair with his fingers. Louis tried to copy Harry's steady breathing, pushing hot air onto Harry's collarbone in a comforting way, as in he's still breathing and he's breathing in Harry's arms and Harry thinks that's good enough for him. It takes some time, but Louis' tears eventually slow to a stop and his breaths even with Harry's and he finds his voice.

Louis pulls in a breath, burying his head into Harry's chest to block everything out. "It hurts." Louis admits with a voice much stronger than it was before. Harry nods, because he knows. He doesn't know how exactly it feels but he knows it feels like something, something not good.

"You're stomach?" Harry asks about the physical because it seems more bearable at the moment.

His stomach hurt, so did his shin and his eye and frankly, his whole body hurt like hell but it would heal under the power of time. "Everything."

"Everything hurts?"

"Everything hurts. Like inside. Inside hurts worse than outside." Louis details, pressing his lips against Harry's bare skin to feel his heartbeat. He liked to feel Harry being alive, it made him want to be alive with him. He just wanted Harry.

"Why haven't you left him yet?" Harry asked, genuinely curious for the answer. It was one of the only things Harry hadn't figured out. Louis allowed the silence to comfort them while he thought up an answer.

Louis hesitated before he spoke. "I-" He'd never said it out loud, he'd never faced it. "I don't have anywhere else to go." Louis explained, feeling like it was a shallow answer but knowing it was a true one. "No one else loves me, no one else would." Harry jolted back in shock, a bit too quickly.

"Did Nick tell you that?" Harry asked, bewildered. Nick was a liar. Nick was a liar because he loved Louis. Harry loved Louis more than humanly possible, more than what's healthy.

Louis nodded, shrugging. It wasn't like Nick had come up with the idea. He'd only confirmed Louis' impending suspicions about himself. But right now, at this moment, in the dim lighting of Harry's cozy bedroom, it looked like Harry was about to break all of Louis' terrible thoughts and replace them with his own. Using two fingers, Harry pulled Louis' chin up towards his face and tentatively met Louis' lips with his own. He was still. Waiting for Louis to break away, to reject him, to say it hurts or to say he couldn't. He waited, and then Louis kissed him back. Wet, thin lips sucked faintly on Harry's bottom lip, testing, trying to see if it felt right. It felt right.

Harry closed his lips over Louis', pushing into him carefully, long eyelashes sweeping across Louis' eyelids. Harry moved his hand from under Louis' chin to his cheek, keeping his face close and his lips closer. He pulled on Louis' earlobe, scratched the back of his head, needed something Louis in his hands. Louis twisted his fingers in the tiny curls at the nape of Harry's neck, and they sealed each other into the kiss. Neither wanted to ever break out. Harry did, however, need to say just one thing.

"Lou?" He whispered into Louis' teeth. Louis breathed out a hmm, eyes closed in satisfaction. "Can I have you?" Harry asked, dropping his head to nose along Louis' neck. "Can I belong to you?"

"Will you take care of me?"

"I will take care of you, love,"

Louis blushed at that short sentence because he believed him. Louis trusted Harry with everything he had so he brought Harry back up to his level and kissed him hard. Harry was going to take care of him. Harry wasn't going to let him sink.

And that was enough for Louis.


End file.
